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  To Alex, for more reasons than I can list, but mostly for being you

  Life sure can try to put love through it, but

  We built this right, so nothing’s ever gonna move it

  —Maren Morris, “The Bones”

  1

  If she’d had to lay down money on which of her motley crew would cause the most trouble, Grace Travis would not have picked the Chihuahua. As she waited for Tequila, one of the two bullmastiffs, to finish sniffing an apparently odorous swatch of sidewalk, she looked toward the water. She loved it here.

  She took a deep breath of her own, inhaling the scent of salt water and sun. Harlow Beach was probably her favorite place on earth. The little pang of longing in her chest warred with the guilt of making the leap. The little house she’d inherited had sat empty for months now. Glancing in that direction, she swore to herself it wouldn’t be much longer. She honestly didn’t think she could stand many more nights of sleeping under a roof that wasn’t hers when there was one right off the beach holding little pieces of her past.

  She gave Tequila and his brother, Lime, the second of the mastiffs, a tug. “Let’s go, guys. One of us has things to do,” she said.

  The five dogs got on board, rushing forward at varying speeds despite the limits of their leashes. They made an oddly adorable mosh pit of fur and ears. Technically, she could get by, thanks to student loans, with just her coffee shop job, but walking these dogs brought her exactly where she wanted to be. Even if you can’t be here for real. Yet. Plus, it built exercise into her overscheduled days, with the added benefit of pocket money. Plus, plus, she’d grown attached. As a kid, she’d always wanted a dog.

  Brutus, the nine-pound Chihuahua, led the pack. They descended the cobbled steps onto the sand to get out of the way of the few passing runners and cyclists that made it out this early. The salty air filled her lungs as she scanned the beach.

  No jury of peers would blame Grace for the way her mind blanked at the sight in front of her. With the steady, gentle waves lapping onto the beach, the sun rising like a slow yawn, and the hot dude in the bright swim trunks emerging from the surf, droplets of water trickling down his chiseled chest, anyone’s hand would have slackened on the bundle of leashes.

  In those next few seconds, time spun out. Brutus’s bark was followed by a determined yank that freed his leash from Grace’s fingers. He shot off toward the dark-haired surfer dude, whose face registered surprise at the yappy little guy coming in hot. Brutus went straight for the paddle in the guy’s hand, jumping with a stupid amount of determination given his size.

  The other dogs had their buddy’s back, pulling Grace along without consent until they surrounded the man. She thanked every deity she could conjure in those seconds as the dogs frolicked around him that none of them had a vicious bone in their furry bodies. They weren’t after him. Nope, they just thought his paddle was an oversize toy they deserved to play with. Good lord, do not follow through on thoughts about his paddle. Her feet slipped in the sand, the dogs pulling her farther off balance as Poppers and Pepper, the miniature poodles, joined Brutus’s enthusiastic barking and jumping. Pepper connected with the paddle. Grace winced even as she reached to stop the pup from playing with it like a stick. Which was her downfall, really.

  Tequila and Lime cushioned Grace’s fall. Somewhat. Really, Lime assisted her tumble by collapsing at her feet and knocking her the rest of the way down onto the sand. Her groan morphed into a nearly giddy, completely embarrassing laugh, which gave gorgeous surfer guy the green light to laugh his sexy face off as he stretched a hand out to Grace. Tequila wanted in on the action, jumping to lick right up one side of the guy’s cheek.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, her head swimming with that unreal sensation of something that couldn’t be happening but was. Her heart galloped in her chest like a runaway racehorse.

  She took advantage of surfer, or more accurately, paddleboard guy’s momentary shock at being loved on by a mastiff and stumbled to her feet without his help. The dogs bounced and pulled between them, overcome with the pure joy only dogs can feel over absolutely nothing. At the moment, Grace wished she had the canine gift of not feeling any shame. Her cheeks were hotter than the afternoon sun promised to be.

  “Are you okay?” He wiped his cheek with his palm as he spoke.

  Brutus continued to bark at him but at least Grace got a firm hold on the leash. All the leashes. She tugged, sliding her feet backward. Of course, he had to have a sexy, rough voice to go with the live-action Baywatch thing he had going on.

  “I’m good.” She laughed loud enough to startle a couple of pigeons. “So good. I am fantastic. Sorry about that. Brutus must have thought you looked familiar.” What? What the actual hell are you saying? More important, why are you saying it out loud?

  Her phone buzzed again but she just kept backing up.

  “Brutus, huh? Funny name.”

  “The funniest.” Stop making it worse.

  She was going to strangle herself with the leashes. Just keep backing up. Say nothing else. “Sorry about the dog breath.” Disappear. Keep moving until he can’t see you anymore. “Tequila’s not mine.”

  Hot guy chuckled. No. No chuckling. She wasn’t trying to be funny.

  “That’s his name.” She pointed to the dog, who whined about leaving.

  “Nice to meet you, Tequila and Brutus. You could stick around, introduce me to the others.”

  He took a step forward. Her heart lurched with his movement, surprising a gasp from her lungs. Until this moment, moonwalking through the sand, with five dogs making her unsteady, she hadn’t known such a thing actually happened. The organ in her chest jumped.

  It was supposed to be a turn of phrase. One of those clichés that brought her endless happiness in the novels she hoarded. Her phone buzzed one more time, finally pulling her out of her stupor. She shifted the leashes into one hand, pulled her phone out of her pocket with the other, glancing at the screen.

  Morty. She stifled the next groan. If he was calling for her to pick up ice cream this early, while he knew she was working, she was going to throttle him. He’s been through a lot. Don’t be so harsh. In fact, he’s giving you the perfect excuse. Be grateful. Grace waved her phone in the air.

  “No time, sorry.” There was never any time. Not for the things she hoped and dreamed about. Not for stopping to talk with a good-looking guy on the beach when she had to be at the coffee shop in less than an hour. No time to swing by the little bungalow and gaze at it from the street, wondering when she’d get the nerve to tell Morty she needed to move out of his home and, finally, into her own.

  He lifted his hand in a goodbye salute as Grace swiped her thumb on her phone and made herself return to real life. The one with a lot of dogs and no men. Well, no others she wanted to see shirtless, anyway.

  By the time she put her phone to her ear, the line was de
ad. Damn. What if he was hurt? He’s a grown man who doesn’t need mothering. He probably wants you to pick him up a burger because he refuses to believe there’s nowhere close by to get a burger at seven A.M.

  Guilt at her flustered irritation lodged in her side. Dropping the dogs off at their respective homes, she reminded herself Morty gave her a job and a roof over her head when she’d needed both. She couldn’t just abandon him because she was ready to claim a part of her life she’d never even known.

  Originally, she’d walked Brutus as a favor to Morty’s neighbor, but he’d insisted on paying her, then referred her to a friend. Things tended to snowball around Grace. At least, in this instance, it was good money.

  She knocked on the door only three down from where she lived. Brutus clawed at the wood, excited to be home. John Dade opened the door in a robe, leaning heavily on his cane. “Hey. Come on in. Coffee is on,” the elderly gentleman said. His pompadour hair that never seemed to move reminded her of Jay Leno.

  Grace let the leash drop and was backing down the steps before she answered. Brutus darted inside. “Not today. Thanks anyway.”

  “You stop by your house?” John stepped onto the small stoop.

  Didn’t she just say no time? “I couldn’t. Not today.”

  “Well, when you’re ready to get in there, my son is happy to help you with any of the renos.”

  She nodded, her throat going thick. “Morty’s moving around better every day. Hopefully soon.”

  John looked toward Morty’s house, shaking his head. “Fool. At our age, riding a scooter is just asking for a broken foot.”

  That’s exactly what her boss–roommate–pseudograndfather had done. Which had delayed Grace’s plans by several months. Her skin felt too tight as she moved down the steps, looking back over her shoulder.

  “Hopefully, he’s learned his lesson.” Doubtful, but a girl could hope.

  “Girl your age ought to be starting a family of her own, not looking out for Morty. He’s my best friend but he’s taking advantage of you.”

  “It was my choice to stay,” she reminded John, who was another pseudograndfather. Yup. Grace’s life was full of men. Just not the ones that would help her with the whole family of her own dream. “Also, don’t say a woman of my age.”

  John barked out a raspy laugh. “If I were your age…”

  She held her hand up, picking up the pace. “Don’t say that either. See you tomorrow.”

  She walked/ran down the sidewalk, checking her phone as she went. Harlow was an older neighborhood of California, about an hour from Los Angeles and close to the beach. The street she lived on with Morty was a time warp compared to the surrounding area.

  The one-level homes were an assortment of once-popular colors. Morty’s place was off-white with faded blue trim. She’d moved in four years ago, when she’d started her degree. Bounding up the single step, she turned the knob, only to find it locked. She never locked it when she went for walks.

  Digging her key out of the inside pocket of her yoga pants, she fumbled with it, her heart racing faster. When she’d seen the ad to assist an elderly gentleman after hip surgery, she’d figured it was easy money. She had no idea how much more it would turn out to be.

  She pushed the door open, and called out as she closed it. “Morty?”

  The living room was empty, though the television was on, muted. Her pulse skipped once and not in the delicious way it had on the beach. Here she’d been lamenting her inability to move while he could be lying flat on his face. Which was how she’d found him six months ago after coming home from the lawyer’s.

  She headed to the right, down the hallway that led to the bedrooms and a bathroom. His hip had healed well all those years ago, but they’d become friends, so Grace rented a room from him. She’d planned to move out after graduating from design school. Inheriting the house on the beach from grandparents she hadn’t known was a shock. Finding Morty on the sidewalk, hurt, had pushed everything else from her mind. He was seventy-two years old but acted like he had the body of a teenager. Which his body was constantly proving to him, he did not.

  “Morty,” she called again, outside his bedroom door. Her brows crinkled. He was moving around in there. She could hear something. Leaning forward, she rapped her knuckles on the door.

  Rapid cursing was followed by a woman’s voice. Grace groaned. Seriously? I can’t do this. Several thumps told her he was using his cane, but when the door swung open, it was confirmed. So were too many other things. His hair was a mess; his pajamas were askew. Grace slapped a hand over her eyes.

  “Why don’t you listen to your messages? What’s the point of having one of them stupid phones if you aren’t going to use it? I’m going to start putting a sock on the front door.”

  “Morty. Be nice. Hi, Gracie. Sorry to startle you, dear.”

  “Hi, Tilly. Sorry to interrupt.” Grace backed up as she spoke to Morty’s longtime lady friend. He refused to call her his girlfriend because he wasn’t “a damn high schooler.”

  “Not interrupting, dear. Don’t let him make you feel bad. I was just forcing him to do his exercises.”

  Eyes still covered, Grace pointed in the direction of the bedroom, hopefully at her roommate. “I knew your foot was bugging you.” The doctor said it had healed well but he needed to take it easy.

  “Don’t need a damn mother.”

  She dropped her hand to look at him. She sighed, trying to quell her longings, but they bubbled up. Maybe it was exhaustion or the fact that she hadn’t gotten to see the house today or the hot guy on the beach or Morty having more of a social life than she did. Whatever it was, she broke. “You’re right. You don’t. I have to get ready for work but I wanted to let you know I’m going to be moving into the bungalow. It’s time.”

  His face registered shock. “I thought you might sell it and stay here.”

  Tilly turned, giving them the illusion of privacy.

  She stepped closer. “I don’t want to sell it. My grandparents left it to me. It’s the only link to family I have.” She regretted the words instantly.

  “Guess I’m sour onions.” He harrumphed. For real. Like some comic-book character.

  “You know what I mean. It’s time. I want to be there.” She glanced at Tilly. “You don’t need me.”

  Something she couldn’t read came into his gaze. “You just going to go live your own life now. Done with me? Just like that?”

  Tilly turned back, frowning. “Don’t guilt the girl, Morty. She’s been more than patient enough with you and your silly behavior.”

  Grace smiled, stepped into him, and pressed a cheek to his wrinkly cheek. “I’ll only be a few blocks away. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

  “Gonna come back and mooch off me?” His attempt at grumpy bravado was undercut by the crack in his voice.

  “Every chance I get.” Grace’s heart felt like a balloon being released into the air, no longer restricted or tied down.

  Morty nodded.

  “I’ll let you get back to your … uh, visit,” she said, her cheeks warming again.

  “I was just stopping by on my way home from work, honey,” Tilly said, joining Morty in his doorway. Sure enough, she was dressed in her nurse’s scrubs, her white-blond hair tucked up into a tight bun. She wore her sixty-odd years well.

  The fact that they’d found love in their later years gave Grace hope that she might one day find her own.

  “I’m glad he has you,” Grace said, her own voice feeling thick.

  “Ask one of those barista boys you work with to help out after work. We’ll get you all loaded up in my truck.” Morty’s crooked smile was a balm to her heart.

  He was going to be just fine, and she was finally going to start living her dreams. In her very own house.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you later. Be good or be safe.”

  She turned to go down the hall before she did something silly like cry over making a decision she’d wanted to make for months.
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  “Good and safe are both overrated,” Morty called.

  She laughed on her way into her room. She’d miss living with him but couldn’t wait to have her own space. A home she could truly call her own. She might not have a past worth dwelling on, but her future was wide open. Her life was about to begin. Right after her eight-hour shift.

  2

  Grace made it to the Coffee Stop with barely enough time to don her apron. Her boss, Ellie, was flexible and sweet but couldn’t stand tardiness. Which was more than fair.

  “Hey, sweet girl,” Ellie said, coming out of the storage closet just off the serving area.

  Grace tried not to appear winded as she took the box of napkins from her boss’s hands. “Hey. How’s it going?”

  “I cannot complain,” Ellie said, grabbing her own apron from the hook by the display cabinets.

  Grace finished the sentence for her, saying, “Because no one would listen if you did.”

  Ellie chuckled, going to the machines, getting them started. They opened in thirty-five minutes. Local college students kept Saturday mornings busy, almost from the get-go. They’d file in, order their drinks, look at Grace like they knew her but couldn’t place her—yeah, I go to school with you and now I’m serving you coffee. Not for much longer.

  In three months, she’d graduate, finally, with a degree in design. The road she’d started on years ago was coming to an end. Grace was as excited as she was scared. More so, now.

  Grace stopped uncovering pastries for the display case when she realized Ellie was standing beside her, staring expectantly.

  Her stomach growled at the scent of chocolate and pie crust. “Pardon?”

  Ellie’s dark eyes sparkled. With the jet-black hair she refused to let gray pulled into a tight ponytail, the barely-there wrinkles were more visible, but so was the shine. “I asked how you were doing. Something on your mind?”

  Her grin probably went from ear to ear. “I did it. I told Morty I’m moving out.”